The Problem of Leisure
by Incidental
Summary: When things must be done precisely they require a manual. Narcissa Malfoy's life is nothing if not precise. Excerpts from the illustrious woman's wifely manual including 'educational' examples.
1. Introduction

Hello readers!

This story is well, AU. Not by very much- but I have such an love of portraying my Lucius as significantly older than my Narcissa that I really do have trouble writing them any other way. If you have difficulties with such relationships there are plenty of other (better) authors to follow!

_The Problem of Leisure_ is two things: Narcissa Malfoy's 'manual' (think of Trading Spouses, if you will) for everyday life as well as a series of one shots that illustrate (or disapprove) certain aspects of the Malfoys' life. Here lies drama, cute family moments, and romance!

There are currently ten chapters planned, all starting with an excerpt of this manual. None of these updates, I unfortunately must promise you, will be consistent. I am a busy student with muse that comes and goes. For more information on where to find my other works, inspiration, or if you are on the prowl for a roleplaying buddy to portray Narcissa please refer to my profile.

I do not own anything Ms. Rowling does.


	2. Propriety

_The Malfoy household is one I have prided myself on nurturing and maintaining since I was eighteen years of age. I must stress to you the importance of keeping everything in its proper order and to tend to household matters promptly. Propriety and promptness are vital to us, as a family._

_- From the journal of Narcissa Malfoy, page 12  
_

Lucius Malfoy relaxed in his chair with a rather pleased sounding sigh. Perhaps everything was going all right in the Wizarding world, at least on the generations-old and well-respected family that he was the soul heir of. But not for long, of course, he mentally added. A fleeting image of his well-rounded wife flew into his mind. The healers claimed it had all the characteristics of a female child within, but Master Malfoy's longing for an avid little boy-child seemed to trump actual fact. Not that he'd mind a girl, should she be every inch her mother.

He was also quite apathetic about the question of the child's conception. It was a rare thing for any Malfoy to ignore the wagging tongues of cantankerous gossip-fueled witches or to ignore any gossip for that matter. The age of his petite wife, the fact she was just barely out of schooling, and suddenly expecting a child so quickly after a wedding to her former professor? It would all die out, of course. The pair had enough money, influence, and grace to weather through this bout of chinwag. Lucius was also quick to remind himself, with a chuckle into his snifter, that they were all just jealous as well. The wealthy, influential Lucius Malfoy (and rather handsome, he added to himself) and the well-bred, beautiful, and completely virginal Narcissa Black.

Propriety was, as always, a synonym for the name Malfoy. Another chuckle raked Lucius' body.

As propriety had dictated in to the form of Druella Black, née Rosier, Narcissa was brought to her set of rooms at promptly midnight and prepped for the marriage bed. Lucius retired to his personal study with a few comrades…who were rather apt to sample his personal stock of brandy before dipping out to attend to the needs of their wives. Weddings, it seemed, were one of the few events that could remind a Wizard of his duty. Rodolphus had been the last of them to disappear. His now-brother-in-law couldn't exactly be blamed for putting it off either. Bellatrix- seven years her sister's senior- was a hellcat. Lucius Malfoy had pondered once or twice, on a mission for the Dark Lord, how Lestrange managed to pluck up the courage to slip into his wife's bed. He also wondered if the black-haired hellion cleaned her fingernails of the blood she spilled. He could not fathom the endless differences between his pliant, always pale, and ever-clean Narcissa and her sister.

The clock above his mantel struck one in the morning. He waited for the hounds to huff and shuffle at the noise, only to realize that they'd been forcibly removed to the stables for the evening. He'd have to make sure that was rectified promptly after the wedding breakfast. Narcissa had sworn up and down she'd never forgive him if he harmed the dogs and this, he knew, would fall right under abuse.

Lucius reasoned to himself, as he plucked his wand from the table and downed the last of his brandy, his mother-in-law must be finished dressing his bride and lecturing her on the secrets of marriage. It was a shame, really. Her mother was well aware of the child growing within the now sacrosanct Malfoy womb. She was not privy to, luckily for the pair, the inner workings of the whole of the situation. It had been Cygnus Black that had stared him down, making Lucius feel all of two inches and sixteen years old (when, in reality, he had a good foot on Cygnus and was about only a decade the man's junior), as he had explained in the briefest way that he had begun and affair with the youngest Black Witch, begot her with child, and now wished to marry her. He had spared Cygnus the particulars; Narcissa's exact age the first time he'd kissed her, the place where he'd deflowered the girl, how long he'd lusted for her, the continuation of their affair despite her recent engagement to another man. He doubted he needed to be that truthful to accomplish his goal that evening.

He pulled the door to his study open, nearly colliding with Druella. He went to give her a nod, though his head never arose from the gesture. He merely kept walking, though his pace quickened with each step. He was practically running by the time he reached his wife's rooms (which, to think of those words, should have stirred something akin to unease in the pit of his stomach). The hand he used to push the door open was acting all of it's own accord. It pushed the bronzed handle down, ripped the gown off of Miss Black- now, Mrs. Malfoy-, and held her hands above her head as he simultaneously slipped into her and claimed her mouth with his own.

It was seemingly only a short time later that he was awoken to someone knocking feverishly at the door. He groaned, burying his head back into the crux of his wife's neck. Surely no one was selfish to disturb the happy couple yet. He'd only had an hour or so with her…Lucius paused and rethought that. It couldn't have only been an hour, unless he was insulting the skills he'd more then generously shared with the blonde curled against his chest several times. He smirked at that thought, images flooding back to him with a force that caused his lower anatomy to rise once more. The knocking returned his attention to the time at hand.

The light streamed in through the windows, someone was awake and alert and banging at his wife's door. The shrill voice finished the puzzle.

"Narcissa! Narcissa, this is ridiculous. It is far past the time you should have awoken and begun preparing yourself for the breakfast."

Lucius swore, sitting up and stroking the arm of his petite wife. "Narcissa," He whispered, kissing her ear (and, unable to resist, nipping her earlobe). He was rewarded with a soft mewl and a swat towards his face.

"'Cissa," He started again, his stroking becoming less gentle. "Pet, your mother is waiting outside rather loudly." He added when her eyes fluttered open. She groaned, attempting to bury her head within the pillows beneath her and return to sleep.

"Narcissa, your guests are waiting! I may only be your mother now but I swear…"

Lucius gave the door a scathing look.

"The guests be damned," Narcissa croaked, washing the sleep from her throat with last night's now-flat-juice. Her hair, usually tightly plaited down her back during sleep, was a golden halo about her head. Lucius wanted to push her back towards the mattress and rumple her hair further, but the look she gave in return to his playful smile suggested that she might not have been receptive to the idea.

Lucius stood, attempting to rub away the overtly affectionate face he currently wore, slid the top sheet about his waist as Narcissa tied her dressing gown around her hips. She crossed the room, her hand positioned gracefully by the white-and-gold door when she turned back to her husband.

"You have to get out!" She hissed suddenly, which caught Lucius somewhat off guard. He offered a slow, knowing smile.

"No, no, no love. I get to stay now because we're married. There's nothing anyone could possibly sa-"

"No, no, no! You were supposed to perform this whole deflowerment bit and then return to your room to sleep. Mother is going to be wholeheartedly scandalized by my appearance, the sheets, and never mind the hovering husband ready to devour me the moment she turns her back. It's propriety and whatnot," She insisted, leaning against the door.

"Narcissa!" Came an almost frantic call from the woman on the other size of the wood. "What in Merlin's name are you saying?"

Lucius looked down at his wife and sighed. Lucius Malfoy was older than the woman still dictating his bride's life and certainly more influential in the greater Wizarding World. This propriety nonsense after _his wedding night_ could go straight to Hades.

"Lucius, go back to your roo-"

"Narcissa this is bordering on ridicu-"

"…or at least hide in the bathroom unti-"

"….your sister is already making obscene commen-"

"I am serious, Lucius. My mother is going to say horrib-"

"I will go find a house elf if I have to. Open the-"

"Mother, give me a moment! I'm trying to find my-"

But before Narcissa could think of any adequate thing to be searching for, Lucius stepped forward, wrapped his arm about her waist, and, in one fluid movement, placed his wife away from the door as his other hand opened it.

Still dressed in nothing but the sheet and Narcissa out of site, Lucius arched his eyebrows down at the coal-haired woman before him.

"I'm sorry, Druella. My wife requires a shower and the water has just been turned on. She's a bit sticky, I believe she said, between her thighs. I shall join her and inform her that we must be quick, Madame."

Lucius watched the woman for only a second as she turned various shades of color between white and mauve before he shut the door. The same blue eyes that had appeared so horrified at him seconds ago bore a hole into his temple as he went to share a private laugh with his wife.

"You did not just tell my mother I was sticky between my thighs," She said dangerously, the color in her cheeks flooding in. Lucius paused and then slowly smiled. While Angry-Narcissa was never someone he was apt to smile at, Embarrassed-Narcissa was utterly endearing.

"Shhh, darling. I also refrained from mentioning any sorts of bruising that you're in need of healing from. Now, don't make a liar of me." Lucius said, nodding his head to the bathroom.

As the red faced (and, having gotten a good look before the gown had been donned moments before, red bottomed and bruised hipped) slipped into the bathroom, Lucius chuckled.

Propriety was, as _always_, a synonym for the name Malfoy.


	3. Conjugal Rights

You know those silly ten-questions about your favorite pairing things that always seem to pop up on your dashboard (well, they're always on _mine_)? This would be my most recent answer to number 10, "_Bedtime for the Malfoys! What is a "typical" evening…?_" (because, after all, this may be the sort of thing I need to get out of a slump). For my other answers, which were more wit and sarcasm instead of smut message me! I can give you my link :)

Thank you so much for reading!

* * *

_It is a shameful thing for a lady to talk about this part of her day but I feel I must stress to you, as I have stressed other things in this recount and manual for my daily life, just how important this part of the evening is for my husband and I. The blush creeps up on face even silently writing this. Lucius and I, without fail, make love several times a week. When we do not make love there is still plenty of cuddling and touching and affection. Not all pureblooded aristocrats, despite the popular myth surrounding us, are cold and uncaring. My husband I love each other and I are two parts of one being. We pleasure one another and demonstrate the physical version of our love until we are floppy and unable to move. We fall asleep in one another's arms quite perfectly. _

___- From the journal of Narcissa Malfoy, page 476  
_

Lucius grasped his wife's hip with his left hand as he attempted to wrap up his letter to Madame Undersecretary with his right. Narcissa fidgeted, causing a small grunt from her husband. She smirked, fidgeted again, and moved to straddle his leg. She peeked down to gauge his reaction and merely received a warning '_Narcissa_'. When she grew bored again (which was within moments) she rocked her hips against him and whimpered. Luck, as it would be, was on her side. Lucius hastily dropped his quill into the inkpot and lightly bit down on her shoulder as he grasped her hips. From between his tightly clenched teeth he hissed her name again.

Narcissa attempted to contain her giggles as she went to move her hips again, but they were swiftly shushed as her husband slid two fingers into her mouth and cupped her sex with his other hand. His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered '_shush_' into it. The couple, though completely unaware of it, both let their eyes close slowly to savor the moment. Lucius, after a few breaths, pushed her lightly off his lap and gave her a very certain look (that Narcissa quickly recognized and backed towards the study door, her legs moving as slowly and deliberately as any dancer trained by the Wizarding Academy of the Dramatic Arts).

He was pursuing his wife quickly enough, choosing to let the letter remain unfinished until the morning. He doubted it would even be read until then, anyway. Stocking-clad feet pressed into the maroon carpet of the hallway, moving faster as Narcissa began to face forward as she ran. He let her reach the wooden double-doors to the master suite first, but was once again flush against her body the moment her chest hit the wood (her excited fingers struggling to grasp and press against the handle). Lucius paused to savor the feeling of his cock pressed against the crux of his wife's rear end and then tangled his fingers with hers to press down and open the door before them.

One expensively, leather-clad foot kicked the door shut as he ripped equally-expensive fabric from the petite woman's body. Heavy breathing, small gasps, and the sound of silk ripping filled the air, the semi-silence only broken as Lucius, his voice husky and deep, murmured "_Bed_." Narcissa, who hadn't quite realized anything other than her husband's bare chest beneath her lips and fingertips, dazedly nodded as he swept her into his arms and promptly deposited her onto the mattress (turned down earlier by an elf, revealing an expanse of gray-satin sheets).

They were never _quick_, that was for certain. Languid, slow, and teasing were far better words to describe the way Lucius worked with his wife's body. A tongue-stroke to the underside of her knee and the inside of her thigh, fingers moving slower than the oldest of old crones as they parted her were key players in his orchestra of techniques. It wasn't, she had once complained, as if he had to prepare her so well. She was often ready before they entered the bedroom for him. He had given her a look, on that occasion, so very similar to the ones he'd given her when he'd been instructing her on less devious activities.

"One may eat apples dipped in cinnamon and sugar, Narcissa, and enjoy them. But if you wait, like a young woman and not the eager kitten that cannot wait to get into the cream, they are much better- are they not? Waiting, peeking at them, even dipping your finger the sweet sauce the apples will start to make to sample your treat- it all adds to the _pleasure_ and _experience_."

Narcissa was torn from that particular memory as he tasted _her_. She gripped at her husband's blond locks, but was greeted with a scathing look and hiss. He retreated from her core, straddled her hips, and pressed her hands together against the headboard. "Hold this. Do not release, do you understand?" She nodded. "_That's_ my little girl."

He was just as languid and leisurely with entering her as he was with everything else that evening. He paused when his hips matched hers, letting her adjust (_Always so blessedly tight around him, dear Merlin how on earth is she so sensational and perfect, Dear_ fucking _Merlin_). When her hips shifted beneath his, her hands still gripped firmly to the wood of the bed, growing impatient and wanting movement he began the move within her.

When the were both spent, slick, and well satisfied, Lucius buried his fingers into his wife's hair as she did the same to his locks. She was soft as silk against his lips, his tongue stroking and claiming her mouth with restrained force. He didn't withdraw from her, soft as he then was, until she'd sleepily pulled herself from the bed to braid her hair.

The damned habit left Lucius cold in his marriage bed and he drew the blankets up over his hips. He watched her fingers play with the between-honey-and-platinum tresses, twisting them into a braid down her back. He'd never known Narcissa to forget this practice with the exception of their wedding night. He supposed if he lived one hundred years after her death he'd still be able to picture the way she folded her hair each night. Admittedly, he didn't want to live one year after her death, but the idea of keeping his memories was all well and good.

Narcissa returned, her eyes heavy lidded with contentment and fatigue. He lifted the blanket to permit entry into the warm folds, pulling her body against his the moment the blankets fell around her hips. Lucius felt one leg slide over his hip, her head tuck under his jaw, and inhaled her sweet vanilla-strawberry scent before permitting himself to succumb to sleep.


End file.
